The Baker's Boy (50 page)

Her breast was
rising up and down rapidly, she could not bear to think on the subject anymore.

She looked around
the small, damp room. How long would she be kept here, confined like an animal?
She glanced down at her wrist where he had gripped her: a red mark was forming.
Melli felt the pressure of tears behind her eyes. She would not give into them.
After all, had she not been in worse situations? This room was a palace
compared to the pit in Duvitt. She managed a weak smile, willing herself not to
succumb to despair.

She forced herself
to think about more practical matters. She checked how much oil was in the
lamp: it was less than half full. Melli turned it down; she had no wish to be
plunged into darkness. She checked the shelves, looking for something she could
use to keep warm. They were all empty save for a collection of dead and
decaying insects, the unsuspecting victims of long-waiting spiders.

Melli stood,
leaning against the wooden shelves, hands hovering above the lamp for warmth,
and wondered what had caused Baralis to move her. Perhaps her father had found
out where she was, but somehow she did not think so. Something was obviously
worrying Baralis, worrying him enough to lock her in a storeroom. Maybe it had
something to do with Jack.

Her mind dwelled
on the baker's boy. He had been good to her, tending her wounds, giving his
portion of water for her to drink. She didn't believe his story about running
away from the castle. Jack did not strike her as a thief, and Lord Baralis did
not strike her as the sort of man who would waste his time chasing one. What
then was his interest in Jack?

Jack did not enjoy
walking down the darkened tunnel; he had never been in a place so devoid of
light. He had been forced to feel his way like a blind man. He'd walked for
some time, only to find that the passage was a dead end. It seemed strange to
him that a passage would lead to nowhere; he decided he must have missed an
opening. He traced back his steps, all the time listening anxiously for the
approach of guards.

This time Jack was
careful to feel both sides of the tunnel, moving from one side to the other
with every step. This method required some time and Jack was afraid he would be
caught. Suddenly his hands ran over a different texture than of stone. Wood.
Jack spread out his palms; it was a door. He could feel no handle, so he pushed
gently. The door did not move. He fervently hoped that it was not locked -in
some manner. He pushed harder and this time the door gave way, creaking loudly.

Jack stepped into
more blackness. His leg smashed against a sharp object and he tripped and fell
forward. He landed on something soft. He rested on the floor for some minutes,
rubbing his throbbing shin, glad to have some time to think. It seemed to him
that all the actions he had taken this morning had been performed with little thought,
relying more on instinct. He now needed to plan, to decide upon his own course
of action, rather than let fate decide it for him.

He wondered how he
could get above ground and out of this series of tunnels. There must be another
exit other than past the guardroom.

As he was
thinking, he heard a faint rumble in the distance, and a pale light began to
creep under the doorway. Jack quickly jumped to his feet, he had to hide. He
could see no detail of the room, the only thing he could feel was the soft
material beneath his feet. He felt around the area he had been lying on, it was
a mound of old clothes or curtains. He could now hear distinct footsteps.
Scrambling beneath the heap of fabrics, he raced to cover his arms and legs.

The door swung
open, Jack could make out light flooding the room. He heard a man's voice:
"See, Kessit, I told you there was no need to bother looking in here. No
one's been in this room for years. Look at all this stuff."

"Should we
head back, then?" said another voice.

"No rush,
Kessit, let's have a little rest, take a bit of snatch."

"Traff won't
be pleased if we dawdle."

"Traff won't
know if you don't tell him." The two men moved forward into the room. Jack
could hear the sound of a tin being opened.

"Come on,
make yourself comfortable. A man can't enjoy his snatch unless he's relaxed.
Settle down on that pile of old rags for a bit, take the weight off those
enormous feet of yours." To Jack's horror, one of the guards sat on the
edge of his hiding place. His leg was only a few layers beneath the man. Jack
tried to keep his breathing to a minimum.

"Course, all
this to-do is Hari's fault. Fancy letting yourself be overpowered by a wisp of
a boy."

"Well, poor
Hari's paying the price for his mistake."

"Aye. Did you
see his face? It was ruined."

"He won't be
attracting any more ladies, that's for sure."

"Nice bit of
snatch this."

"There's more
going on here than Lord Baralis is letting on. Were you there yesterday after
he'd finished questioning the boy?"

"No, I don't
believe I was." Jack was trying desperately to suppress a cough--dust had
got in his throat.

"Well,
something happened to Baralis, let me tell you. He came stumbling out of there,
white as a sheet."

"Oh, was
he?"

"Aye, you
should have seen him. He could barely stand. Had to call for Crope to carry him
away."

The two men were
quiet for a while, the only noise being the sound of them chewing on their
snatch. After a while one of them spat. "Aah, that's better. He's moved
the girl, too."

"Who
has?"

"Lord
Baralis, you fool. He's moved her to one of his special places. He thinks the
boy might try to rescue her."

Jack's leg had now
gone numb with the weight of the man resting on it.

"D'you know
how he gets in 'em?"

"I couldn't
say exactly. I've seen him fiddling around with the stone. Had a go myself,
didn't get anywhere."

"I think we'd
better get going. Traff ain't in a good mood today." To Jack's relief the
man stood up.

"I wouldn't
care to be in his place, I can tell you." With that the two men left the
room, the light receding behind them.

Jack let out a
sigh of relief and then coughed the dust from his lungs. He pushed the
coverings off him and stood up, trying to work out the numbness in his leg. He
felt fairly safe for the time being; he didn't think the guards would return
again soon.

He was feeling
hungry and thirsty. He wished he knew what time of day it was; he had no idea
how long it had been since he had escaped from his cell. The memory of the
guard's bloody face returned to him, and he shuddered involuntarily. The guard
had been doing him a favor-bringing him water.

Jack felt ashamed
of the fact that since he'd escaped he had not given a thought to Melli's
plight. He had assumed that Baralis would have returned her to the castle. When
Melli told him that she'd run away to prevent her marriage, he'd supposed that
Baralis had brought her back to enable the marriage to go ahead. Now it
appeared that she was still locked up. He knew he could not make his escape
from the underground hideaway, knowing that she was still held prisoner. He had
nursed Melli and tended her wounds; he could hardly leave her now when she
could be in even greater danger.

He had to find out
where she was being held. The first thing he would do, however, was find
something to drink. He needed food and water and a light of some sort. He
needed no weapon-for the first time in his life he possessed a real sword. He
groped for the blade tucked into his belt, but felt little joy of possession.

Jack settled down
to wait. The guards were obviously looking for him and it seemed wiser to bide
his time for a while. His pursuers might become less watchful as the day wore
on. He decided he would try the second route next time, since the first one
he'd taken had proved to be a dead end.

Several hours
later, Jack slipped from the room, carefully closing the door after him. He
made his way down the passageway. It grew lighter ahead as he approached where
it split off. He took the route to his right and was once more plunged into
darkness.

He felt his way
down the tunnel and soon realized that this passage was much longer than the
one he had first taken. He wasted no time feeling for side openings but walked
ahead, arms held out to feel for obstructions. It was deathly cold in the
tunnel and Jack was beginning to wish that he had thought to bring some of the
linens he'd lain under. He continued on down the passage, hoping that this one
would not turn out to end in a stone wall.

After a while his
eyes began to make out a glimmer of light in the distance; he rushed toward it.
The light grew brighter and the tunnel came to an abrupt end. Jack found
himself in a long, rectangular room which had several passages leading from it.
Something on one of the stones forming the wall caught his attention and he
went over to investigate. Elaborately carved in the stone was the letter
"H" flanked by two serpents. Jack knew what it meant: he was
somewhere deep within Castle Harvell.

The land outside
of Rorn was good for little, the soil shallow and barren. Only a farmer of extraordinary
skill and patience could coax bounty from the earth. Goats and sheep, however,
found the tough, yellow grasses to their liking, and soft, pungent cheeses were
produced from their milk. There were many villages to the north of Rorn, all
depending to some degree on the city for their livelihood.

Tawl judged it was
time for his noonday meal and looked around for a suitable spot. Not far off
the road was a rocky hill dotted with grazing sheep. He decided to climb the
hill. It was about time he had a proper look at who was following him.

As he climbed, he
fished in his sack and brought out a slice of dried beef. He chewed it with
little relish. There were few who enjoyed drymeat. He washed it down with some
water from his flask and finished his meal off with dried apricots and sea
biscuits. He smiled grimly. No wonder so few sailors had any teeth left; sea
biscuits were as hard as the sea bed itself. The shopkeeper had assured him the
biscuits would stay fresh until Borc's second coming. Tawl did not doubt it.

By the time he
reached the top of the hill he had worked up a sweat and was sorely tempted to
pour the remaining contents of his flask over his head. He stopped himself, for
he could not be sure where the next fresh water would be. He had to content
himself with turning his face to the cool breeze.

He was pleased to
find the small hill gave him an excellent view of the land. He could see Rorn
on the horizon, looking as it could only from a distance-white and gleaming.
The sea sparkled like a dark jewel in the south, and to the north there was a
suggestion of mountains. Tawl felt exhilarated, glad to be on his way, glad to
be free of the city.

He scanned the
surrounding land carefully, aware since last night that he was being followed.
His eyes traveled over bush and rock searching for movement, but he could see
nothing moving except the sheep. He was not unduly worried; there was someone
out there and he would root them out. Tawl made a great show of bedding down
for an afternoon nap, unrolling and shaking out his blanket, yawning and
stretching. He lay down on a particularly uncomfortable rock and pretended to
sleep.

Tawl waited. He
waited for several hours, the sun arching slowly across the sky. Finally out of
the corner of his eye he saw a movement down below. Tawl strained to make out
any detail, but could not. He watched as the shape moved from behind a group of
bushes and approached the foot of the hill. Tawl sprang up, knife in hand, and
hurtled down the hillside. The figure started to run away, but Tawl had gravity
on his side and gained quickly. He was directly above the figure and he leapt
onto his back, forcing him to the ground. Only when his knife was poised to
strike did Tawl recognize who it was.

"Don't kill
me," squealed the boy. Tawl twisted Nabher's arm back and drove his face
into the dirt.

"What are you
doing following me?" he demanded. "You're hurting me," pleaded
the boy, struggling to free himself.

"I will hurt
you more unless you speak up. Now tell me, why did you follow me?" Taw]
increased the pressure on the boy's arm.

"Who's to say
I followed you? It's a free country, a man can travel where he pleases."
Tawl twisted the boy's arm as far as he could without breaking it. Nabber
howled with pain. "I didn't mean anything by it. Just thought I'd follow
you."

"People just
don't follow someone unless they have good reason."

"There was no
reason, I swear! I just thought I'd like to go on an adventure with a
knight."

"Are you
working for the archbishop of Rorn?" Tawl gave the boy's arm another
twist.

"No, no. I
don't know what you're talking about." The boy was close to tears. Tawl
released his arm and let him go. "So, Nabber, if I've got your story
right, you're telling me that you just picked up and left the city on a whim to
follow a knight." Tawl was skeptical.

"Yes, that's
right." The boy brushed the dirt from his face and inspected his arm.
"There's nothing in Rorn for me, thought I'd find myself a bit of
excitement."

"What about
your family?" Tawl noticed the red marks on Nabber's arm where he had held
him-he had been harder than he thought on the boy.

The boy shrugged.
"I ain't got none."

"So where
will you go when you get back to the city?"

"I won't go
back." The boy's eyes challenged Tawl. "Well, you won't be following
me any longer."

"Try and stop
me." The boy raised his chin defiantly. "What did you plan on doing
about food and water?"

"Thought I'd
pick 'em up on the way." Nabber shrugged his shoulders with a great show
of nonchalance. Tawl took a deep intake of breath. "Playing at adventuring
is one thing, boy. You won't be able to survive much longer on your own."